Bryklor looks back at me. “If we keep this pace, we can double medical allocation within two cycles.”
Medical allocation.
The words steady the room. For a moment, even Beatrice’s scent loses ground to memory. A nursery on Layn. Thermal cradles lined in silver cloth. Tiny hands inside warming gloves. My cousin Sael’s daughter, Talia's small body curled under layered blankets. The sickest children stop shivering first. Their bodies stop wasting strength on warming and begin conserving for surrender.
Aldar Syndrome was rare when I was young. Now it moves through family lines and outer provinces with the patience of a master hunter, picking off our most vulnerable. Children lose the ability to retain warmth. Their skin cools no matter how high the incubators run. With their pulses slow, their auras dim at the edges.
Before Earth coffee, we carried them outside during the red hours. Three hours of sun a day. That was all our world gave them. Three hours beneath a red star, the only sunthat helped, while their mothers watched the timers and the healers pretended the blankets would hold through the night. Sometimes they did. Too often, they did not.
Then Zymlor discovered what coffee did inside us. Warmth that lingered. Circulation that improved. Small bodies that held heat for six hours, then eight, then twelve. It was not a cure, but it was time. For a dying child, time is not small. Time is another night alive.
“Talia’s latest numbers?” I ask.
His face stays neutral. “Low. Better after the last medical roast, but not stable. Sael’s wife hasn’t slept in two days.”
Bryklor looks out the transport window. “She stopped shivering yesterday. Sael thought that meant the fever broke.”
It does not. We all know it does not. Quiet consumes us before Zymlor breaks it.
“This is why we are here,” Zymlor says, softer now. “Why you sit in that glass tower running the media hub. It's why Bryklor argues with customs officials and fights insects. Why I keep trying to convince Layn soil to love a plant that rejects it every chance it gets. The children need those beans, Sky. Not eventually. Not after politics. Now.”
“I know,” I say.
“Do you?” Zymlor asks. “Because if mate sickness takes your judgment, you could put all of this at risk.”
Both brothers stare at me.
I regret every choice that led to this office. “She is not my mate,” I repeat before I close the call on their warnings and jokes. My words are clear. One thing isn't clear.
Who am I trying to convince, me or them?
Chapter 3
Bee
My new office has glass walls, a door that closes, and a lock. Actual lock. Woohoo, I'm playing in the big leagues. Even Todd didn't have a set of keys. Loora might as well be an alien with all the colors of jealousy she's turning. No more yanking on desk drawers with both hands while Todd shouts at me about deadlines and spreadsheets. I should feel victorious. Instead, I'm trying to navigate living in a glass box with the hottest guy, err, um, alien, on the planet in my line of sight. Because if I can see him, he can see me. Which means a girl can't even pick her nose, scratch her butt, or adjust her bra. Maybe now I won't have to. I'm still in shock at the compensation package personnel offered me. More than enough money to buy the Rolls-Royce of bras. The kind that fits like a soft layer of skin and not a cage.
The proximity of Skylor's office means my professional life now includes pretending not to notice every time he stands, turns, or rubs his ears.Weird habit, maybe nerves?I don't know, but I study it just the same. Study him. My body has become a badly trained dog, and Skylor Ak Layn is holding the treat.
I spent four hours revising the Mack,as the doctor prefers to be called, article. Four hours of meaningful progress, sentences that actually say something, and researching the good doctor's claims. Four hours interrupted by the awareness of him across the hall, breathing the same recycled air. A prince. A beautiful immortal cast down into the mortal realm.
His scent reaches me even through a closed door. The coffee-sandalwood scent makes my suppressants work overtime until my skin glistens with containment. I took two supplemental doses today, and I'm still struggling. It's a weakness I can't afford and refuse to discuss with another living soul. I've been ducking Loora all day. I'm surprised she hasn't just---
The door opens without warning. Dammit.Locks are completely useless if you don't lock your door.Loora enters with her laptop tucked under one arm, her favorite snacks in the other hand.
"Spill, girl. What's going on? Why are you hiding out?"
"Not hiding, just working. This is a huge load I'm carrying now."
"Bull. You've been carrying this magazine for the last few years, and we both know it. You only avoid me, when--"
"--when I'm busy."
"Nope, still not buying it." She purses her lips and squints at me until I wiggle in my seat like a toddler."Besides, your face is doing things," she announces, settling into my visitor chair. The chair creaks slightly under her weight, her long limbs maneuvering gracefully after twenty-eight years of practice. "Distracted things. Hot things. Things that say you've stopped taking your suppressants and decided to jump on your hot boss and ride him like a bronco in a rodeo."
I ignore the visual and squeeze my thighs together. "Wrong. I've taken my suppressants." The denial comes too fast, and she peers harder. "Double dose, actually. I'm being responsible."
"Responsible would mean admitting you're in heat and going home to a cold shower and your vibrator." Loora crunches a handful of spicy hot chips with the careless joy she applies to everything, including snack foods.Especially snack foods. "Or even better, why not stop ignoring that chunk of blueberry muffin, while you pretend to care about an article?"
